" "I shouldn't call her queer. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. Her mother…. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside.
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